Out of Time
by BrokenSolitaire
Summary: Samantha McKay is an average teenager living in 1987 until an encounter with the Rift sends her to 21st century Cardiff and into another encounter with Torchwood. Can she make a new life for herself, or uncover the connection between her past and Jack's?
1. Manic Monday

**Disclaimer : I don't own Torchwood, the characters or anything pertaining to the Who-niverse (because let's face it, that would be wicked awesome). Just the OC characters and this fan fiction.**

**A/N : So here you have the result of the boredom that is my pre-uni summer vacation. I would say "Enjoy!" but as this is my first story, it's probably not much better than the final draft of Twilight (apologies to Twilight fans), but please bear with me. Oh, and sorry for the melodramatic synopsis - I suck at summaries.**

Samantha was late. This was nothing new. She had been late all her life. She was three and a half weeks late coming out of her mother's womb and the habit stuck with her for sixteen years. She grabbed her backpack, her car keys, and a thermos full of coffee, which wasn't strange for her, even though it was two in the afternoon. Tired from school, she would need all the energy she could get to make it through the rest of the day.

Three times a week after school, she had an internship at the local observatory, taking only her required classes and dropping unnecessary electives to have time to leave early to take the early shift at the observatory. It was good work experience, as well as giving her a network of connections that would come in use later on. The one downside was her schedule: it was starting to take its toll, especially since she had no time to herself anymore.

She was just about to walk out of the door when the phone rang. She paused at the door, weighing if it was important enough to be even more late, but then she realized it made little difference at that point. With a reluctant sigh, she slammed the door shut and ran to the kitchen and reached across the counter, grabbing the phone from off of the hook.

"Hello?" she asked somewhat shortly.

"Hey, kiddo," her dad said on the other end, "Bad time?"

"Extremely," she said, and then, feeling bad, added, "I'm late picking up Charlie. I know, I know, it's my fault - I had to stay late in Physics for a make-up test and I didn't realize how long it would take. I'm on my way out right now - "

"Whoa, Sam, take it easy," her dad said, trying to put her at ease, "He can hang in there a few minutes. You won't be any good to him if you pass out from exhaustion, now will you?"

She sighed. "Right. Sorry. Point taken; absorbing oxygen."

She could hear him grin on the line. "Much better. I just wanted to give you a heads up that I'll be working a little late tonight, but I'll be home in time for dinner. I thought I'd pick something up. Chinese?"

"Yeah, that's fine," she said, glancing at the clock for the third time.

"Great. I'll see you both around six, then."

"Okay, see you tonight," she said with a smile, "Bye."

No sooner had she hung up the phone did she double back through the house and outside, locking the door behind her. She threw her backpack in the front seat of her car and plopped down in the driver's seat. She turned the key in the ignition, but all she got was an irregular sputtering. She tried it three more times, but all she got was the same result. Groaning in frustration, she looked in her purse, but all she had was a twenty pound note-only enough to get the observatory and back. She would have to walk to pick up Charlie from school. It wasn't that far of a walk.

She grabbed her backpack and the thermos-she would definitely need it today. She sipped the coffee as she walked the two miles to the school. She waited on the sidewalk as the throngs of elementary children poured out of the doors, either waiting on the steps or running to the buses. She saw Charlie before he saw her. She motioned to him, knowing that he would be expecting to see her beat up, silver Camaro. When he saw her, he got an excited smile on his face as he half walked, half jogged toward her.

"Hi, Sammie!" he called excitedly.

"Hey, little man," she said as he greeted her with his usual two second hug, making her smile, "How was school?"

"Fine," he said before changing the subject, "We're not walking all the way home, are we?" he asked breathlessly, as if the very idea of walking two miles instead of driving was making him short of breath.

"No," she teased in the same breathless tone, "We're walking the whole two blocks to the Collins' house, but if you feel like you're going to have a heart attack before then, just let me know."

He got a look of mock indignation on his face, the naive expression that only a child could have before she reached down and tickled him playfully on the stomach, making him laugh that high-pitched laugh that could make any bad day better.

They walked down the street, Charlie getting more animated as he told her about his day, from the art project in his class to the milk fight in the lunchroom. She smiled, listening attentively while simultaneously calculating how late she would be to the observatory and how long her mentor, Professor Bethlyn would lecture her for before letting her get to work.

She sighed, a small smile on her lips. A song that had played on MTV while she was getting ready to leave the house played in her head.

Just another Manic Monday.

**A/N : So, yeah, kind of a slow starter, but more action in the next chapter. Reviews would be great.**


	2. Through the Rift

**A/N: I tried to make the Rift effects and descriptions as accurate as possible, since the effects of the people who came through in the _real _Out of Time and Adrift were significantly different in comparison - the former being undamaged and the latter being physically deformed. I'm assuming though since Jonah was transported to a burning planet while the other three only changed time periods, not planets, that there would be no lasting effects, so that's how I wrote this one. **

They were just four houses down from Charlie's babysitter's house when she felt a sharp shock on her hand. Startled, she spilled some of the coffee she was holding on her jeans, the cup falling out of her hands. She stared down at the coffee cup, assuming that the thick metal coating on the outside of the cup was what generated the static electricity.

Suddenly she was overwhelmed by a bright white light. She hadn't seen let alone heard a vehicle big enough to cause a light that white approach them, but she didn't dwell on it. She shoved out her arms, pushing Charlie out of the line of fire. She heard him shout before she heard the thud as he hit the pavement. She didn't even have time to try to get out of the way. She couldn't even see which way she could move to get out of the way - the light was blinding, so blinding that she couldn't even open her eyes.

She waited for the impact to hit her, for the fall as the car slammed into her, trapping her on the ground. She braced herself for the pain, but it never came. Instead, she felt herself falling. She fell so far that she felt like there was an endless chasm forming in her stomach. Her stomach was in her throat, her chest in her back, her eyes fallen into her brain, swimming in the space between her lobes. It was hard to move, like there was no gravity surrounding her. She couldn't move, couldn't breathe. The light no longer blinded her. Instead, all she could feel was darkness, covering her, enveloping her, swallowing her whole. She felt like she was never going to stop, like she was going to fall right through to the Earth and maybe beyond it into the void in space, beneath the planet itself...

The falling came to an end as feeling settled back into her body. She felt herself land on something-concrete?-with a hard thud. She landed on her arm, and she felt the burning sting of the avulsion to her skin. She struggled to open her eyes, but they felt like they were pinned shut from having them clenched shut for so long. She managed to pry them open.

She was not on Satinwood Street. She wasn't surrounded by houses or trees or any other sign indicating suburbia. She was in a city. It wasn't the middle of the afternoon with the bustle of schoolchildren running from the school to their homes; it was nighttime, with only the occasional sound of a car passing by. She blinked, sure that she was seeing things, disoriented. There was a sharp pain down the side of her head. She must have hit it during the fall before her arm could block the impact.

_What happened? _she thought. She couldn't tell what time it was or even what day it was. She didn't even know where she was.

_Was I mugged? _she thought. It was the only conclusion that made sense, or rather, the only conclusion that she could come to. _Yes_, she thought, _that must be it. The car ran me over, robbed me, and then dropped me off somewhere else after knocking me unconscious._ She instinctively looked in her pockets.

_Strange,_ she thought. Her wallet was still there.

Then she remembered, and she felt the panic set in.

"Oh God," she mumbled, forcing herself into a sitting position, ignoring the pain in her arm, the pain in her head. "Charlie..." She looked around, but her brother was nowhere to be seen. She tried to stand, but a sharp wave of pain erupted from her leg. She must have sprained it in the fall. She tried to shift her weight to her other leg, but her knees wobbled under the pressure, and she fell to her knees, scraping them on the pavement. Grabbing hold of the nearest thing she could find to hold onto-the railing next to a set of concrete stairs-she struggled to get to her feet, feeling sharp stabs of pain down her arm, in her knees with every time she moved them.

Wiping her eyes, she struggled to get to her feet. This time, she ignored the pain, unwilling to let it beat her. The effort left her breathless, and she doubled over the rail, struggling to regain control of her breathing.

"Miss?" a man's voice shocked her out of her grief. She looked up at the man in front of her. He seemed out of place for that time period. His clothes, instead of the late 80s, resembled the forties, maybe even the thirties or twenties. His appearance stunned her somehow, even with everything that had happened since that afternoon.

"Are you all right?" he asked. His eyes, deep blue, were full of pity, genuine concern even.

"I—I don't know," she found herself saying. It was odd, but her disorientation seemed to be affecting her neurological inhibitors, making it impossible to function properly or even be aware of the potential danger she was in.

"Do you know where you are?" the man asked her.

"I—I don't…" she trailed off, realizing only as she started speaking that she didn't know. The way she was talking—stammering incoherently at simple questions probably made him think she was drunk.

"Listen to me," the man said carefully, "I can help you, but I need you to come with me."

Even through her disorientation, his words sent warning bells ringing through her head. She resisted the urge to run, knowing that it would only provoke him.

"I-I need to...I have to-" she stammered for a reason. She could feel herself already backing away slowly as not to alarm him, wanting to put as much distance between them before she tried to run.

"I think you need to come with me," the man said, but there was something in his voice, something authorative, commanding almost, that made her feel as if he wasn't asking.

Through her haze of disorientation, Samantha felt panic rise in her chest. In a rush she looked around for signs of someone, anyone who could help her, but the street was empty. She found herself backing away involuntarily.

"Stay away from me," she said warningly, but her voice wavered.

"Wait a minute, Samantha," the man said.

Samantha froze, a wave of fear crashing over her. She didn't even ask why he knew her name. The fact that he knew it was enough.

"Just stay away from me!"

She whipped around and broke into a run. Instead of getting far, she slammed into someone who seemed to have been standing right behind her, as if waiting for her.

As if she were being cornered.

The person who she collided with grabbed her by the arms. She struggled against him, but he was stronger, so much stronger, but also as if he had been expecting to have to fight her.

"Get off me!" She thrashed wildly, trying to shake him off. He only increased his hold on her. "Let go!"

She heard the retreat of footsteps from behind her before she heard the screech of tires, like the sharp turn of a car before stopping abruptly. She heard running footsteps before the sharp thud of a car door sliding open. The man who was holding her forced her into the van. No sooner had he forced her front first onto the seat, knocking the wind out of her, pinning her arms forcefully behind her back did the door slam shut and the other man jumped into the driver's seat, starting the engine with a slam so hard that she could hear the gas pedal thud against the floor.

She struggled to free herself from the hold of the man beside her, but he merely pressed down on her arms even harder. She cried out, the pressure sending waves of pain so great up her arms that it felt like they were being split down the side. The pain mixed with the adrenaline made it hard for her to catch her breath. White spots flashed before her eyes.

"I-can't-breathe...please-don't-" she managed to choke out before the wall in her throat cut off her speech.

"Owen, take it easy!" the man in the front shouted back at his partner.

"That's proving sort of difficult right now, in case you haven't noticed!" the man called Owen said with irritation as he struggled to keep his grip on her. "If you'd just let me Retcon her-"

"I already told you; no," the driver said with authority, "I want her awake for this."

His words sent a wave of panic through Samantha. She didn't know what they were going to do with her, but whatever it was, from his voice, it was going to be bad. Unknown horrors passed before her eyes, sending fresh waves of fear through her. "Oh God," she felt herself saying. She couldn't stop the choked, strangled sound of fear that escaped her throat.

A few moments later, the van pulled to an abrupt stop. The screech of tires echoed painfully in Samantha's ears. She heard the sound of the driver's seat door slam shut before the back seat door was slid open. Owen pulled her off of the seat, not releasing his hold on her arms, shoving her forward. She tried to scream as she struggled to shake him off, but the wind had been knocked out of her when she was slammed face first onto the seat. She couldn't find her breath, much less her voice.

Everything after she was pulled from the car was a blur. In the rush of colors surrounding her, she could make out that they were next to a dock, surrounded by boats. She was being dragged toward a small shop bordering the closed off waters. The other man ran ahead of them, opening the door. Samantha started to panic and knew she had to act fast; the chances of her escaping once they got her inside decreased terrifyingly.

She stopped struggling for a split second, just long enough to get him to loosen his grip. In one quick motion, she whipped around, kicking him as hard as she could in the leg. He keeled over, from pain or shock, she didn't have time to deduce. She started to run, but her grabbed her arm, pulling her back toward him and resuming his tightened grip.

"Help!" she screamed as loud as her deprived lungs would let her, "Please, somebody, help me!"

"No one can hear you, love," Owen said as he recovered himself, "I'd save your breath if I was you."

As he her pushed her towards the threshold, she kicked her legs up against the wall, trying to avoid being trapped inside as long as possible while simultaneously trying to use the force of her body to push him backwards, maybe physically weakening him further. She could feel him straining under the pressure.

"Owen, I'll take her from here," the other man ordered his partner. She felt Owen loosen his grip before shoving her to the other man. His grip wasn't as rough, but he was stronger, so much stronger.

"I want you to check and make sure Mfwanwy isn't in sight," the man ordered Owen, "I don't want any surprises and I don't want her to panic."

"It's a little late for that," Owen mumbled before disappearing into the shop.

Samantha took advantage of the man's distraction by thrusting her elbow into his stomach with all the strength she had left. She could tell she took him aback, and she didn't waste the opportunity. Shoving her arms out of his weakened grip, she blindly ran as fast as she could in the opposite direction without so much as a second thought, ignoring the pain that shot up the side of her leg and the lack of oxygen in her lungs.

She didn't get far before she felt his hand on the arm she hadn't fallen on. She tried to shake him off, but he was stronger, larger than she was. She was outsized and outmatched and she knew it, but she still had to try. She spun around and moved to kick him, but he caught her leg. She lost her balance and he took advantage of her lack of control to grab her arms, shoving them behind her back. He held them there, blocking her movements, and pushed her towards the small tourist shop. She struggled, but she couldn't stop him from pushing her inside the shop.

The shop was vacant, the lights off and looking rundown, as if no one had been in it for years. Still keeping his grip on her, he flicked a switch and a panel opened in the wall next to the door. She froze at first before she struggled harder, knowing that if she didn't get away then, the chances of her escaping at all were decreasing by the second. He didn't loosen his grip, forcing her through the panel and down a series of cold corridors, half lit with low-watt bulbs.

Samantha knew that trying to improvise physically was usless - she was outsized and outmatched drastically - and she knew that negotiating with the man would be easier now that he was alone.

"Please," she begged as he pushed her forward, "You don't have to do this. Please, just tell me what you want."

"Don't make this hard," the man said, his voice surprisingly remorseful. His breath felt hot in her ear, making her shiver.

At the end of the corridor, a large, round door resembling a gear slid to the left, revealing a large room, one like Samantha had never seen before. It looked like a run-down laboratory with computer equipment filling every section of the room and several strange pieces of equipment littering the space in between. A large staircase leading to an elevated platform was in the center of the underground room, where two people were stood talking. They looked up when they entered, their eyes flicking from the man to Samantha in shock.

"Jack, what the hell is going on?" the dark haired woman with glasses demanded in a thick Welch accent. She and the other woman next to her ran down the stairs.

"A little help here, please?" Jack grunted as Samantha's struggling increased. He forced her up another set of stairs on the side of the room, parallel to the one in the center.

"Jack, what's going on?" the woman with curly black hair asked.

"Can we do the explanation thing when I'm not trying to talk and restrain someone all at once?" the man holding her - Jack - demanded.

The two others looked at each other before following them up the stairs.

"Where are you taking her?" the woman asked.

"My office," Jack said, "Suzie, get the door-"

The woman called Suzie went over to a door on the right, holding it open. Samantha struggled harder, kicking her legs against the threshold of the door, trying to use her lower body strength to push him off of her, but he prevented her easily.

"Please," she whispered, "Don't do this..."

Jack stopped briefly. "I'm so sorry," he said quietly. She was surprised to find his voice was full of...what, pity? Regret? Sympathy?

He pushed her through the door, and she fell to the floor with a thud. She looked up at him, but before she could get to her feet, he slammed the door just as she reached the door. She tried the doorknob, but he held it fast.

"Please-please just listen to me!" she cried desperately through the door. "I have to find my brother! Please!"

She pounded on the door, knowing that it was fruitless but trying to knock it down if she couldn't open the door. She heard a clicking sound on the other side of a key scraping metal.

As she heard their retreating footsteps, the anger, the will to escape drained out of her. Devoid of any strength, she turned her back to the door and slid to the floor in defeat, burying her head in her hands.

"Stupid," she cursed herself through her tears, "Stupid, stupid..."

How could she have been so stupid? How had she gotten herself into this predicament? What use was she supposed to be to her brother if she got herself captured by a stalker or a serial killer? Suddenly, the fear for her brother was replaced by a fear for herself. If they didn't have him, then he was safe somewhere. She was alone, defenseless, and a prisoner of people she didn't know anything about. What did they want with her? It had to be something. Somehow, they knew who she was and they knew almost exactly what had happened hours ago, what felt like only minutes ago when she first regained consciousness but what now seemed like days.

_How did this happen? _she thought. _How could I let this happen?_

She tried to calm herself, steady her ragged breathing, the panic that was making her hyperventilate, but she couldn't. All she kept seeing was her brother, lying in a ditch or wandering around a strange city, lost and alone, or even worse...and she was trapped, alone with no way of helping him, let alone finding him. That revelation being made, she allowed herself to sink into misery before curiosity replaced her grief. Through blurry eyes, she stared at her surroundings, taking them in for the first time.

She was in an office. The man called Jack's office, she assumed, remembering his earlier words. If she was going to be trapped there, she needed to find out who these people were, what they wanted with her.

Wiping her eyes, she got to her feet and wandered over to the desk parallel to the door. Papers were scattered everywhere, stacks of files lined up the edges of the table, waiting to be sorted through. She groaned; this was going to take forever.

A small voice in the back of her mind echoed to the surface, replacing her frustration with determination.

_'Well, I guess I'd better get started.'_


	3. Prisoner of Time

**Disclaimer: Just thought I'd clarify, as NikkieSheepie brought this to my attention, my OCs aren't based on any characters from Stargate SG-1, Stargate Atlantis or any variations of the franchise, so any similarities are coincidental. Sorry for any confusion. **

_'Rift readings, Torchwood Organization, Weevil sightings, people to Retcon'_. These were the type of words that Samantha viewed for the next hour and a half. Every so often she would stop and look up at the door or listen for the sound of approaching footsteps before turning her attention back to the papers in front of her. She didn't know what to make of them. She thought that they were the formulated basis, the fictional stories of a group of people obsessed with the supernatural or science fiction, a group of delusional people with one dissosiative purpose.

She stared down at the sheets of paper incredulously: it sounded ridiculous, like one of those cheap, poorly made sci-fi movies that played occasionally in the middle of the night. If it was a possibility, she would consider it later. At that moment, she needed to keep her mind and her eyes opened for any possibilities.

She went back to leafing through the papers, scanning them quickly for anything that looking informative. Empirically, she deduced from her research that she was in the Torchwood Institute, some sort of privately funded organization, maybe military. She deduced that their work had something to do with what they called the Rift. What the Rift was, she couldn't figure out. One possibility was that it was a location where they worked frequently; another was that it was a codename for something else.

The one thing she couldn't figure out was why she had such open access to that information. If her captors had been so careless as to leave her, then there were only two possible explanations: they were amateurs who didn't even consider the possibility that she would find out anything about them, or they didn't view her as a threat. They only wouldn't view her as a threat if they weren't planning on her escaping. Which meant that they didn't plan on letting her go.

Her heart jumped at that revelation, but she pushed it from her mind. She couldn't afford to break down again.

She came across a single sheet of paper addressed to a Captain Jack Harkness. She stopped, the name triggering a feeling of deja vu.

_Where have I heard that name before? _she thought. She stopped, wracking her brain and overloading her recall system, trying to remember. When she came up with nothing, her eyes scanned the letter. It was mostly pleasantries at first, but after few lines, it was clear that it was a formal letter. The sender was requesting Jack Harkness's presence at some sort of delegation, in which he were to answer any and all questions on the current status and affairs of their organization. It was signed Queen Elizabeth II, sole authority and sponser of the Torchwood Institute.

Samantha read that last part again. Torchwood, whatever it was, was a royally funded institute? She almost laughed at how ridiculous she sounded. _This is mental. _

The sound of the lock rustling startled Samantha so much that for a moment, she couldn't move, frozen with fear. After a second, instinct kicked in and she tried to rearrange the papers like they had been a few hours ago in a matter of seconds before moving away from the desk. She stood in the middle of the room. She crossed her arms and stared at the door, bracing herself for what was going to happen next.

The door opened and the man-Jack-stepped inside, making sure that she wasn't near the door. He closed the door behind him before turning to her.

"Sorry about the wait," he said nonchalantly. "I thought I'd give you time to calm down before I tried to explain anything to you."

Samantha felt a sharp reply come to her lips, but she suppressed it, the need for answers greater than her pride.

"Who the hell are you people?" she demanded in an even voice, surprising herself. "What do you want with me?"

Jack looked at her with an expression of mild surprise. "Well, you certainly cut to the chase, don't you?" he asked, his patronizing tone making her want to throttle him. He took a step toward her, but she stepped back.

"I'm not going to hurt you," he said. She stared at him, not believing it.

"Like I haven't heard that before," she snapped.

He did not respond at first. "What do you mean by that?" he asked quietly.

Samantha stopped momentarily before glossing over his question, instead getting back on point. "What do you want with me?"

Jack raised his eyebrows, but instead of answering, he withdrew a revolver from the holster on his belt. Feeling a surge of fear, she started to back away, but he raised his hands in surrender.

"If I were going to kill you, I could do it in two seconds flat right now," he said, trying to reassure her, "And if I didn't want to create a commotion, I could easily do it in under fifteen," he added, pulling out what looked like a tranquilizer gun. "Just so there isn't any confusion about our intentions," he added. He held up both of them without aiming them before putting them back in their holsters. Samantha released the breath she had been holding.

"That still didn't answer my question," she said, unwilling to let him distract her.

"Right, sorry," he said, laughing. That was what made her angry; how he could stand there, laughing at her, as if everything that had happened to her in the past few hours was just a joke to him, some cruel joke.

His joking demeanor was replaced with an authorative one. "I think you should sit down."

"I think I'll stand," she countered.

He chuckled. "Suit yourself."

He walked around to his desk, passing by her. She jumped, thinking he was going to attack her, but he merely brushed past her and went to sit behind the masses of papers in front of him. She looked from him to the door, weighing the odds of her chances of escaping. His attention wasn't even on her, like she expected. Instead, he casually picked one up and scanned his eyes across its contents.

"So," he said nonchalantly without taking his eyes off the paper, "Find anything interesting?"

Samantha felt her heart stop, but he didn't seem angry or surprised. He sounded like he expected it.

"Don't be alarmed," he said, putting the paper down and propping his elbows on the desk, "Actually, I would have been surprised if you hadn't. I know that if I got thrown into a room by a bunch of complete strangers and there was something worth looking at, especially lying right in front of me, I wouldn't be huddled in a corner waiting for them to make the first move. I'm impressed. Oh," he added as she edged toward the door, "I've got the base wired at all the exit points and I've got several of my team members on point, so no chance of escape."

Samantha looked from the door back to him with a sinking feeling in the pit of her stomach, realizing that she was overpowered and outnumbered.

"You might as well sit down," he repeated, his eyebrows raised expectantly.

Samantha looked at him, debating, before hesitantly going over to the chair in front of the desk and sat down. She did not drop her wary posture, her suspicious gaze.

"Are you hungry?" Jack asked as he rearranged the papers she had tried to do earlier, "It's probably been a while since you've had anything. I could have something sent up."

"What I want is for you to tell me what you want with me," she said, her expression unfathomable, but once the words were out of her mouth, her brave facade fell, and her cold, unyielding expression became one of pleading.

"Please, just let me go," she said, trying to keep her voice steady, "I promise, I won't tell anyone about you. I won't go to the police, I promise, just please..."

She trailed off when she realized that he was staring at her, listening intently with a look of regret on his face, like he had no intention of letting her go.

"Please, I have to find my brother," she said pleadingly, "He's only seven years old and he's out there somewhere, lost and alone and I-"

She tried to go on, but found that no words would come out; her throat closed up. Only as the words left her mouth did the full impact of what had happened settled over her. She had been attacked, mugged, and left for dead, leaving her brother God only knows where all by himself, scared and alone.

"You mean to tell me," Jack said, staring at her, one eyebrow raised, "that you've been mugged and kidnapped all in one night, both separate instances, by people who could be axe murderers or lunatics for all you know, and you're worried about your brother?"

Samantha did not answer. Having him casually lump the events of the day together as if he were merely commenting on the weather only made it more real, the realization more fresh on her mind. Then the tears did come.

Jack watched her in silence as she tried to hide the tears by wiping them from behind her hands. After a moment, he handed her a napkin from his desk drawer. Her eyes flicked from the napkin to his face with a look of confusion, surprise, like she didn't know what to make of him. Hesitantly, she took it, hastily wiping her eyes.

"As I said," he continued as though nothing had happened, "I'm-we're-not going to hurt you, nor do we have your brother."

"Then how do you know who I am?" Samantha asked. "What do you want from me?"

He stared at her for a minute with his gaze, so penetrating, before speaking.

"Do you know what happened today?" he countered, not dropping his gaze.

She started to answer, but found that, when she thought about it, she really didn't know what happened. She had just assumed...but what had really happened? Suddenly the answers that she thought she had made her stop, her mind whirring at a hundred miles an hour to try and remember what had happened.

"There was...this light," she tried to explain, to put into words what she couldn't form a thought of, "and then...just darkness. It was like I was falling, and then...I thought only a moment had passed because it happened so quickly, but then I woke up and it was like hours had passed. I don't even know what day it is," she added, just now realizing.

"Today's date is January the fourth," Jack responded.

She nodded absently; so it was still the same day. "What time is it?"

"11:00 p.m."

She did the math. She had been there for almost two hours, she assumed. She must have been unconscious for about seven hours.

"Where's your wallet?" Jack asked, taking her aback.

Instinctively, she checked her jacket pocket. Her wallet, her car keys, they were both there.

"But...I was mugged," she said, although now she wasn't so sure. "Why didn't they take...?"

Jack leaned forward, looking her in the eye. "You weren't mugged, Samantha. You weren't hit by a car and you weren't drugged and left somewhere in the city."

"Then what happened?" she asked angrily. Suddenly she found herself on her feet. She was getting tired of his games, the way he dodged her questions and left her with riddles that she was too tired to decipher. She wanted answers. In a rage, she slammed the palms of her hands on his desk. He started, and she felt a thrill of triumph at finally wiping that cocky, self-satisfied look off his face.

"I've had just about enough of all of this," she said furiously. "Okay? I can't take anymore! I've gone from one unexplained event to another and I'm not just going to sit here while you play... cryptic psycho-babbler! For once, give me a straight answer and tell me what the hell is going on!"

"You didn't ask what year it was," Jack said calmly, once again dodging her question.

"Do I—?" she repeated angrily before the confusion took over, "What?" She was sure she had heard him wrong. "Of course I know what year it is. I was knocked out; I wasn't in a coma," she snapped derisively.

"What year is it, Samantha?"

"It's 1987," she answered, feeling like an idiot for humoring him in whatever sick game he was playing.

He stared at her, like this was the answer he was expecting, but not like it was the one he wanted to hear.

"Samantha, there's something you should know," he started, but then stopped.

"Well?" she prompted him.

"You're in a place called the Torchwood Institute. We're an underground organization, outside the government, beyond the police. We deal with events that people-ordinary, everyday people-aren't equipped to deal with. What happened to you...it was one of those events."

"What do you mean?"

"There's this thing called a Rift," he explained, "It runs through Cardiff, underneath the city. It's a line of constant energy. It's always there, always emitting energy, but it's harmless to the human race. Sometimes, though, random waves of energy will converge. When that happens, it powers the Rift and opens it, creating a sort of entryway between two designated points."

Samantha found her head spinning. She couldn't figure out where this information was going.

"When that kind of energy activates the Rift, for that one moment, two points are connected in time and/or space. Usually, the energy loses power and the portal dissipates on its own before it has time to affect anyone. In some cases, though, people fall through."

"So," Samantha said, piecing together what he was saying. "You're saying that this Rift, this line of convergence, opened and I fell through."

She couldn't help it; she laughed. This was absurd. She had studied principles like that in theory, but to believe that she had actually been subject to one of them empirically was ridiculous. Against her better judgment, she decided to humor him.

"All right, then. You have all the answers. Let's say I did fall through this-this doorway, this portal. Where did I come out?"

Jack was careful to answer. Reaching into the pocket of his jacket hanging off the back of his chair, he pulled out a rolled up newspaper. He laid it out in front of her.

"Read the date," he said.

Samantha didn't look at first. For some reason, she was scared of what she would find. It was something in Jack's eyes, so full of pity, so regretful at having to tell her something that he clearly didn't want to. Finally, after she couldn't take the suspense, the not knowing, she picked up the paper and looked in the upper left corner for the date.

_January 4th, 2007._


	4. Revelations

It was as if she had just been kicked in the stomach. She felt her heart stop within her chest, her blood lay dormant in her veins, as if the shock had devoid her of any lifelike qualities.

When she looked up at him, she felt a flare of anger. She found herself standing, slamming the newspaper down on the table. "This is sick."

Jack said nothing. At his silence, she felt a panic rise in her chest. He wasn't…he couldn't be serious?

"No," she said out loud, shaking her head. "God, this is sick. Is this your idea of a joke?"

Jack leaned forward, staring at her, unblinking. "Do I look like I'm joking?"

Samantha looked from him to the date on the newspaper, and she knew somehow that he was not lying.

"But that's-that's impossible..." she found herself saying.

"I'm sorry," Jack said, his voice quiet, "I'm so sorry."

"Twenty years," Samantha said, her voice barely above a whipser. "You're telling me that this is...this is the future?"

Slowly, Jack nodded.

Samantha at first couldn't take it in. It was impossible. It was only the kind of thing she had ever read about, people traveling through dimensions, finding new worlds to explore, searching the unknown. She had theorized and worked hard to put herself on the track to start a career that would enable her to study and theorize with other scientists, but she never did she actually think it would ever be discovered in her lifetime. She believed in them, hoped to discover them all her life, but she had never planned on actually experiencing one. The most she had ever expected was to teach those theories at a university, debate theories with her colleagues.

In a moment, all of that had changed. In one moment, her dreams, her hopes, had become a reality. She would have traded the fantasies for the reality in a second.

"But you can reverse it," she said. It wasn't until the words were out of her mouth that she felt a spark of hope stir within her chest. "Right? I mean you can just power the Rift and open it back up in my time and send me back?"

Before Jack could answer, she found herself plowing on. As long as she could talk, he couldn't dispute her.

"I mean, it shouldn't be that hard. If you open the central matrices within a designated timeframe, it should open up to same time and place it last did; you just have to reverse the signal so it goes the other way...right?"

Jack was taken aback at her logic, at her reasoning skills, but what would work in theory wasn't going to help her then.

"I'm sorry," he said. "We can't open the Rift. It's...it's beyond our abilities."

"Why?" she found herself asking. It wasn't until the word left her mouth that she felt an anger swell up inside her, ripping its way through the surface. Jack started to explain the Rift mechanics, the rules of time and space when she added, "Why me?"

Jack looked up at her, unsurprised by the question, but not having the answer. "That's the question, isn't it? Always the same question, but...I know what happened to you. I don't know why. We don't know why the Rift works the way it does. I don't know if we ever will."

Samantha didn't know what to think. She wanted answers, but she found that she couldn't even form the questions in her mind.

"My brother didn't go through with me," she stated evenly, "Did he?"

Jack shook his head. "No."

"He's...he would be..."

"He's twenty seven," Jack said before she could figure it out. "He's living in London now," he added.

"Is he...? What I mean is-"

"He's living on his own, if that's what you mean," Jack finished for her. "He's not married."

Samantha felt her head swimming with the flood of thoughts, but most of all with that former revelation. That her brother – her seven year old brother – was old enough to possibly be married.

"What am I supposed to do?" she asked, staring down at her hands. "I've been missing for twenty years. Everyone thinks I'm dead. Where am I supposed to go?" she added, unable to manage anything above a whisper.

Jack watched her from behind an unfathomable expression, but as she ran her hands through her hair and rested her forehead in the palms of her hands, he felt his façade weakening. He wanted to reach out to her, to comfort her, to tell her what she wanted to hear, but found that he couldn't do any of those.

He could see that this was all she was going to be handle for that night. Either that, or he did not want her to have to handle anything else.

"I've got a spare room in the back," Jack said after a moment of silence passed, "You can sleep there tonight."

Samantha looked up at him, but felt that the fact that she wouldn't be wandering the streets of a foreign time was of little comfort.

"But what about...?" she trailed off, unsure of how to phrase the question.

"Your brother isn't seven anymore, Samantha," Jack said reasonably. "He's not in any danger. You don't have to worry about him anymore."

His words, meant to reassure her, or at least put her mind at some level of rest, only reminded her of everything that had happened - of what she had lost.

"We'll figure everything out in the morning," Jack went on, "There's nothing you can do tonight."

Samantha didn't have the will to protest, but found that she had no strength to move.

Jack regarded her a moment before he stood up. "I'll leave you alone," he said before walking toward the door. He paused at the door, looking back at her one last time. She had not moved, nor did she look as if she had any intention of moving any time soon. He started to say something, thought better of it, and left the room.

Samantha did not know what to feel. She should have been relieved that nothing bad happened to her brother, that he wasn't lost and wandering around, wondering where she was or kidnapped or lying in a strange part of the city as she was. Yet she did not, because even though she knew nothing bad had happened to him, finding out that he was twenty years older was not what she had expected.

What did he think happened to her? Did he see her disappear through the Rift, or did he not have enough time to see what had happened? What had happened to him afterwards? How did he get from a seven year old boy lying on the sidewalk of his baby-sitter's street to a twenty seven year old man?

What about her? What was going to happen to her, now that she was ripped out of her own timeline and thrown into a world where she was proclaimed dead? Where would she go? Could she go back to her family, after all this time? What would she say to them when they saw that she hadn't aged a day in twenty years?

It only occurred to her then that maybe Torchwood had no intention of letting her return to her family. Would her abrupt return disrupt the current timeline? Would it cause a frenzy of media activity? Would it expose their organization to the government, or were they the government?

If that was the case, and they didn't intend on letting her return to her family, if she could even consider that an option, then what did they intend on doing with her? They weren't going to kill her - if that was their first objective, they would have done it already instead of wasting time explaing their organization or the Rift or even that she wasn't in her own time anymore. That was some reassurance, at least.

They couldn't keep her there indefinitely...or could they? They seemed very below the radar - she had never even heard of Torchwood before. From the way Jack had talked about it, they had been around a long time, maybe even before his time. If they were that elusive, they had to have resources beyond society's control. Did they have facilities for people like her? Did they intend on keeping her locked up indefinitely, safely kept away from society and away from the established timeline?

That thought sent a wave of fear through her, but she suppressed it, realizing that it wouldn't do her any good. She had to consider the possibility that they were going to let her go, but where would they be letting her go into? She had, technically, been gone for twenty years. She knew nothing about the world today. It couldn't have changed that much, not as dramatic as people in the 50s believing that the new millennium would bring flying cars and houses that hovered inches above the ground, at any rate. On the other hand, two decades was a long time, and she couldn't even begin to fathom what kind of place the world was anymore.

Suppose she did learn about the world and how it had changed. What then? What would she do? Get a new identity, a job? What kind of life could she make for herself here? She was only just starting her life in 1987. She had her family, her friends, an internship with an prominent astronomer which guranteed her a recomendation to a University. She had her life all planned out.

Now none of it would ever happen. A master's in astrobiology, a job at a research center or observatory, a family of her own. All of her hopes, her dreams were over.

Her life, in mere seconds, was gone.

**A/N: So, yeah...Not really good with the emotional stuff myself so I'm not sure how well this turned out. **


	5. Interlude

The others looked up as Jack descended the stairwell for the second time that night.

"How is she?" Toshiko asked.

Jack nodded. "She's fine. She's sleeping. Side effect of traveling unprotected through the Rift. Her body needs to recover from the shock. She'll probably sleep for a couple days."

Owen nodded, as if that made sense. "Well, the only ones we've seen come through the Rift have been aliens, mostly Weevils, who have a stronger anatomy than humans. Our anatomy isn't physically strong enough to hand the transubstantiation. 'Was bound to take a toll eventually."

"And then there's the temporary disorientation we've observed," Suzie put in, "It makes sense, since the mind is scientifically and statistically stronger than the body that it would wear off before the exhaustion or PTSD."

Each of the team members absorbed this information, falling silent as they became lost in their own reveries.

Tosh was the first one to speak. "What happens to her now?"

Jack took a sharp intake of breath, releasing it slowly in thought. "We'll have to get her a new identity - birth certificate, social security number, proof of citizenship. Easily done."

"Does she have any family?" Suzie asked.

Jack nodded. "Her brother. Mom died when she was ten; dad's in a nursing home with Alzheimer's. According to the medical records, he barely even remembers who he is, let alone his children."

At the mention of her dad, his voice seemed to get quieter as his eyes stared into the wall behind them as he lost himself in thought.

Tosh looked up at him. "You didn't tell her?"

"No. She's just been through a trauma; she doesn't need the added shock."

Jack fell silent, a pensive gaze on his face.

"I'll reintroduce the concept of the changes of the past two decades to her slowly," he thought out loud, "Then we'll see where we go from there."

"Anything we can do?" Suzie asked.

Jack turned his eyes on her and nodded. "Just do your jobs. I'll take care of everything else."

The others knew better than to argue. They looked as if they wanted to question him further, but Jack turned away from them and started to walk to the other side of the base.

"Let me know when you finish those reports on yesterday's cover-up," he called over his shoulder, the authoritative, professional tone returned to his voice, "and I want updates on those Surotheian technology experiments, Tosh."

The others exchanged glances, but instead of asking the questions that burned on their tongues, as they always did when it came to their clandestine leader, separated and went to do their jobs.

**A/N: Not a very good filler chapter, but writer's block can be a real bitch. Apparently its the only thing Daleks can't exterminate. Shame. **


	6. Breakdown

**A/N: Yet another epically clever chapter title (note extreme sarcasm).**

Samantha didn't know how long she slept for. After figuring out how to use the small computer that flipped open at Jack's desk, she found this thing called a search engine on the internet that popped up when she accidentally hit one of the keys. She found the most recent news articles. She did not read its contents - she didn't think she could handle knowing what all she had missed, didn't want to think about the endless stream of events that had happened without her.

Instead, she looked to the very top, toward the right for the date. It was just as Jack said - the year was 2007. She really was twenty years in the future.

She turned off the computer in one fluid motion, shutting it with a force. She didn't know how long she sat sunk in that chair before she felt an overpowering wave of exhaustion. She didn't know where it came from. She had been fighting a vague drowsiness ever since she woke up - or at least thought she woke up, before she realized she had never been asleep - but she had been so overwhelmed with not knowing where she was to being kidnapped and worrying about her brother. She hadn't had time to want to even think about taking a nap. Now that the excitement and the heat of the succession of moments passed, she felt the exhaustion catch up with her.

She found the room in the back that Jack had mentioned. It was small, almost like it was a closet with a bed shoved into it. It looked as if it had rarely been slept in. She wondered if this was where Jack slept and then deduced that since it was in the back of his office it must be. She didn't have time to convince herself not to fall asleep in a stranger's bed, didn't have time for her own experiences to surface to make her wary of his intentions. Before she knew it, she was lying on the bed and in what seemed like only seconds, she was asleep.

She awoke only once. She didn't know what it was that woke her, whether it was a sound outside the small room or a nightmare, but she sat up in a rush. Her eyes were practically sealed shut with matter and she was groggy and disoriented. She couldn't remember where she was or how she got there, but it did not seem to matter. Reeling from the vivid feelings the dreams produced, she couldn't hold back the sobs that choked out of her throat.

She did not want to go back to sleep, did not want to return to that state of vulnerability, but she was so tired, so unbelievably tired that she couldn't fight as she fell back against the bed, clutching the covers so hard that her knuckles turned white in the dark of the room. In moments, she was asleep.

When she woke up for the second time, she didn't want to get out of bed. She was well-rested, feeling physically better than she was before going to sleep, almost better than she had felt in months.

Then she remembered.

She closed her eyes, trying to force herself to go back to sleep, but she was rejuvenated now, at least physically, from however long she had slept, and her mind would not let her go back to sleep. Sighing, she resigned herself to the fact that she would have to face up to her predicament and could put it off no longer. She sat up, the bed creaking under the release of pressure, and sat there, rubbing her eyes to clear them and get her bearings about her.

She looked around for a clock, something to tell what time it was, or even what day, but the room was void of almost anything except for the small bed and a couple plastic crates with clothes slung over them. Running a hand through her hair, she stood up from the bed and walked out of the room.

The office was empty when she entered it, and the only sign that Jack had returned afterwards was the stacks of paper that he had re-stacked and re-organized into neat piles on his desk. Something that hadn't been there the night before now rested in the chair she had sat in last night. Confused, she searched through the contents of her backpack, wondering where it had come from. She didn't remember seeing it when she fell through the Rift. She stood there, looking at her notebooks and textbooks as if remnants from another life. She came to a picture that she had been using as a bookmark in her copy of Proust's Swann's Way. It was a picture that had been taken a year ago - or twenty one years ago, Samantha bitterly corrected herself - at their aunt's house for Christmas. Her aunt had taken the picture of Samantha, Charlie, and their dad next to the Christmas tree. She stared down at the picture, feeling a wave of grief that almost doubled her over.

Her family was gone. She didn't know where they were now, twenty years later, or if some of them were still even alive. She told herself that it was irrational to believe that any of them had died, at least of a natural death. Her dad was young when she had left, still in his mid thirties and her aunt was even younger in her late twenties. Charlie was only seven when she left.

_My little brother is twenty-seven now_, she thought.

She did the rest of the math in her head. Her father would be fifty-five in this time and her aunt would be forty-seven. They would not have aged much. Then there were her friends, her closest friends - Andrew, Elizabeth, and Drea. What had become of them? Where were they now, twenty years later, all the same age she should be right now?

"I thought I heard someone stirring around up here," a voice said from behind her. She didn't have to turn around to know it was Jack. Wiping her eyes, she folded the photograph and shoved it into her pocket, sliding the book back into her backpack.

"My team found that when they were doing a sweep of other anomalies that emitted Rift readings," Jack explained when he saw what she was looking at, "We thought you might want them back."

"Yeah," Samantha said, turning to face him. "Thanks."

Jack smiled by way of reply, but it faded as his gaze flickered to the book that was sticking out over the top of the backpack. Samantha followed his gaze, looking back at him strangely. Why was he so interested in a library book from 1987?

"Still got that book, then?" he asked casually.

"What do you mean _still_?"

Smiling knowingly, he shrugged. "Well, you will, at any rate."

"What do you mean? Will _what_?"

Jack said nothing, still smiling. Why did he always seem like he knew more than he was letting on? The thought was disconcerting. What did he - _what could he_? - possibly know that she didn't didn't?

"You slept a long time," he said, changing the subject. "Are you feeling better?"

"How long was I out?" Samantha asked instead of answering his question.

"Two days," he replied. "One of the side affects of the Rift, along with the disorientation and headaches from hell. How is that, by the way? Any better?"

She absently touched her head, which was still throbbing slightly, but not as badly as when she went to sleep - passed out was more like it. "Sure; if atomic blasts pulsating through your brain counts as better."

Jack laughed. "I'm sure Ianto's got some painkillers in the shop."

He turned and without waiting for her, started for the stairs. Samantha, guessing that he intended for her to follow him, started to make her way down the stairs, but stopped dead in her tracks.

She had not had an opportunity to fully take in her surroundings when she was brought in two days ago. The room was massive, looking as if it had been there for years, subject to the rust and decay of time. The stairs surrounding the top of the room seemed to go on forever, looking as if they exceeded above ground, as if they went past the surface, which, she knew, was impossible. She must have been further underground than she thought.

On the lower level of the room were three work stations, the focal point of each one being the very large, advanced computer screens that seemed almost flat and emitted blue light with endless strings of numbers and information, causing shadows to move where they were cast. Each was loaded with different types of work equipment. Sat at each one were three people, the ones that Samantha recognized from the night before. The man called Owen was donned in a white lab coat, while the girl called Suzie was shielded in an iron shield mask while she welded some type of equipment. The woman with glasses whose name Samantha missed sat in front of her computer screen, her eyes never leaving the screen as she typed at an almost impossible rate.

Samantha followed Jack down the stairs absently as she gazed around the room. It was unlike anything she had ever seen. Yes, she had been exposed to the modern technology at the Observatory, but twenty years had done a lot for technology's advancement. Despite the impossible situation she had found herself in, she found herself staring at it all in wonder.

"Right!" Jack said, clapping his hands gamely. "So, introductions. Samantha; Suzie Costello, second in command," he said, pointing to the woman in the welding mask. "Toshiko Sato," he pointed to the woman glued to her computer screen, "and Dr. Harper-oh, you two already met," he added with a mischievous smile.

Both Suzie and Toshiko looked up briefly from their work to wave at her. She noticed that Owen was looking at her warily before he stepped forward, surprising her by extending his hand.

"Right, sorry about the other night," he said nonchalantly as she took it, "Job specifications and all, you understand."

Samantha couldn't help but be slightly amused. "How's your leg?"

Suzie and Toshiko exchanged amused glances, silently giggling behind their hands. Jack laughed beside her.

Owen looked surprised before a ghost of a smile touched his eyes. "Well, I dunno. You nailed it pretty bad. Might have to chop it."

Samantha raised an eyebrow, but was unable to stop the smile that spread across her face.

"'Course, to be fair," Owen said, "Figured I'd try and give you the benefit of the doubt, you know, me having several advantages up on you at the time."

"Keep telling yourself that, Owen," Suzie said mockingly. "Don't believe a word of it," she added to Samantha, "He's been questioning his manhood for days, he has. Then again, he's always doing that."

Owen crossed his arms, the back of his neck turning red. "Right. Thanks, Suzie."

"All right, you lot," Jack said, reminding Samantha of a father breaking up an argument amongst feuding children, "You've got a code 7 on Lexington Street. Get to it."

The three comrades obediently dropped what they were doing and casually grabbed random items from their sections as they passed them on the way out. Jack watched them go with a small smile before turning to Samantha, nodding in the other direction as an indication to follow him.

A loud screech traveled from the roof of the base down to the lower lever. Samantha's head jerked up to the ceiling, where she saw the last thing she had ever expected to see in her life. She instinctively backed against the railing, staring at the pterodactyl flying in the seemingly endless ceiling.

"What the hell-?" she stammered, "There's a-you've got a-"

Jack laughed. "Mfawnwy. Don't worry, she's harmless. We domesticated her, so she only eats animals."

"Last time I checked, we were animals," Samantha said incredulously.

"Animals with no intelligent thought process, then," Jack replied humorously.

Samantha was still not convinced. Reluctantly, she released her grip on the railing and followed after Jack, her eyes still following the creature from millions of years ago that was only a mere twenty feet above her.

"Did it-did she come through the Rift, too?" Samantha asked.

Jack's stride did not falter, but she could see his face darken as he answered.

"Yeah."

He led her to a room on the lower level with a large table surrounded by five chairs. He motioned for her to sit down before he said something unintelligible into some sort of communications device that reminded Samantha of the advanced technology she had seen on science fiction shows but did not expect to be released for consumer-ism for decades, more so than just twenty years. He sat down across from her.

A moment later a man Samantha had not seen before entered the room carrying a bag of take-out along with a carrier tray with two cups of coffee.

"Samantha, Ianto Jones," Jack said as he entered the room.

Ianto smiled. It was a professional, polite gesture, but Samantha couldn't help but notice the forcefulness behind it, as if it took effort for him to manage it. "Pleasure to meet you," he said formally as if he were speaking to a colleague instead of a random stranger who just happened to fall into their jobs.

Samantha forced a smile as he began laying the food out on the table before them. Jack gladly accepted the coffee and food, but before Samantha could so much as thank Ianto, he had slipped quietly from the room.

"Help yourself," Jack said, "You're probably hungry. You haven't eaten in two days. Well, either hungry or nauseated, though those effects should have worn off by now."

Samantha looked down at the cartons of Chinese food lying on the table. She felt suddenly like she was forgetting something. Then she remembered - the last words she and her father had exchanged.

_"-I'll be home in time for dinner. I thought I'd pick something up. Chinese?"_

Samantha found that she was suddenly starving and ate almost a whole pint of vegetables and rice, each bite a bit of manna to her empty stomach, before the uncomfortable quenching of her stomach forced her to stop.

"Better?" Jack asked, a smile of amusement on his face.

Samantha nodded. "Yes. Thank you."

She started to take a sip of coffee, but the cup stopped short of her lips as a piece of information she had absorbed the other night in Jack's office surfaced.

"There's Retcon in this," Samantha said, "Isn't there?"

Surprise flickered across Jack's face. "How do you know about-? Ah," he added when realization crossed over his face. His surprise turned into a knowing smile. "Why would you think that?"

She looked down at the table, averting his eyes. "I've seen too much. I know too much. I can identify you and your people, I know where your base is, I know what you do. I'm a liability," she added.

Jack did not reply at first and she took his silence as affirmation.

"I thought it was a bit sloppy of you, to be honest. You didn't exactly try and conceal any of this from me."

Jack said nothing at first, just sat back, his smile never leaving his face as he regarded her.

"We didn't put anything in your drink," he said after a pause. Samantha looked up in surprise.

"You-didn't?"

"We don't Retcon people who've fallen through the Rift," Jack answered her, "They have to make new lives for themselves with the realization that they're in a different time. Erasing their memories would only put us at a risk of exposure, as well as get them thrown into the nearest Section."

Samantha believed him. She didn't know why, she just knew that if they wanted to drug her, they had multiple opportunities before that and they didn't. She took a hesitant sip as a sign of trust before pushing it away.

"So what happens to me now?"

Jack leaned forward, resting his elbows on the table in a 'getting-getting-down-to-business' sort of way.

"You've got two options," he started with a professional tone to his voice. "One: you can start all over, in a new time, a new city, be a new person. You're still young enough to go into the foster system, but I don't think you'd want that. We can set you up with a new identity, a job, a place to live, everything you'd need. You'll have to make a whole new life for yourself."

That was more or less what she had expected to hear, but it still didn't make her any less overwhelmed. She bit her lip, considering. "And the second one?"

"You can go back to your family."

Now _that_ really wasn't she had expected to hear.

"Just like that?" she asked doubtfully. "Just pop up after twenty years of being thought of as dead and waltz right back into their lives, like nothing happened?"

Jack shrugged, undeterred by her sarcasm. "More or less. I'll talk to your brother, explain everything to him. For all intents and purposes, he's your only remaining family who has the potential to be a guardian for you."

Samantha felt a nagging urgency in the pit of her stomach, like he wasn't telling her everything. "What if he doesn't accept it?"

Jack did not reply at first. "We'll deal with that when the time comes," was all he said.

Samantha couldn't let it go. "Jack," she said expectantly.

He regarded her quietly for a moment.

"If he can't accept what has happened, then we'll Retcon him so he has no recollection of any of the information. As for you, it'll be back to option one, but as of right now, it's your choice."

Samantha felt her breath catch in her throat. A part of her was anxious to see them again, to see that they were all right, yet a part of her didn't think she could face them after all this time. Something, though, still didn't sound right.

"What about my dad?" she asked.

Jack said nothing at first, but she saw his face fill with the knowledge of something he did not want to have the knowledge of. Pity filled the edges of his face, bordering remorse.

"I'm sorry."

Samantha felt like she had been hit in the stomach. The revelation that he did not need to say dropped like a falling brick. She suddenly couldn't breathe, couldn't feel anything but the overwhelming grief in her chest.

"I'm so -" Jack started, but Samantha did not let him finish.

"No," she said, and when she spoke, her voice was firm despite the strain her voice conveyed. "How is that - how did he - ?"

"He's not dead," Jack said quickly, as if he knew what she was going to ask.

Samantha felt herself stop, the hysterics leaving her silent. "He's - he's not?"

Jack shook his head, but the solemnity was still etched on his face. "No. He's still alive."

"Where is he?" Samantha asked. It wasn't until the words were out of her mouth that she suddenly needed to see him.

"Maybe now isn't the time for this," Jack said.

"No," Samantha said angrily, "You can't just say something like that and expect me to leave it at that. Tell me," she demanded.

Jack's silence, while brief, allowed Samantha's mind to imagine horrors.

"He's in Royal Hill nursing home," Jack stated formally.

His words were like a blow to Samantha's gut. The constriction of her throat returned, the panic in her chest. "He's - "

Jack nodded.

"But what...?"

"He's in critical condition," Jack said, "He's rapidly regressing into total mind deterioration."

"He's - he has - ?"

Jack nodded severely. "Yes. Alzheimer's."

Samantha felt her throat close up. She could feel the shock of what he was saying wearing off as the dam behind her eyes began to get unbearably heavy.

"When?" she somehow managed to get out.

Jack hesitated at first. "It started about six months ago. According to the medical reports, he started forgetting little things - days of the week, who was prime minister - but after a while, he forgot his life, his friends..."

"And us?"

Pity on his face, Jack nodded.

Samantha felt herself go cold instantaneously. Feeling seemed to desert her. All she could do was sit there, staring down at the table, avoiding Jack's eyes, trying to comprehend what he was telling her.

_My father is in a nursing home with Alzheimer's. My younger brother is twenty years older than me, living on his own, working, living a life each day that I never had a chance to live._

Suddenly, she found that she couldn't just sit there, not in the same room as the man who was telling her what was tearing her world apart. She stood up, her chair scraping the floor, echoing in the silence of the room. She stared at him only briefly before she turned and walked away from him.

"Samantha," Jack said suddenly, regarding her warily. "What are you doing?"

Samantha stopped at the threshold. When she spoke, her voice was quiet.

"Please," she asked him. "I can't...Just leave me alone. It's...this is too much. I just—I can't."

Without waiting for his answer, she left him standing there, making her way through the base. She remembered it all clearly from a few nights before, so she did not have to pause to wonder where she was. She found the way she had been brought in and walked through the cold, damp corridors that led to the tourist office. The man who she had met briefly, Ianto Jones, was sat behind the front desk, leafing through stacks of paperwork. He looked up when she entered, but she walked past him and out the shop door, ignoring his protests.

When she found herself outside, she had to cover her eyes to adjust to the light. She had no set foot in the sunlight for almost three days, since she fell through the Rift. Once her eyes adjusted to the light, she squinted up at the sun. Judging from the position of the star, she guessed it to be mid-morning.

Blinking, she viewed her surroundings. Now that she wasn't being restrained and actually was able to take in the sights around her, she saw that instead of an empty alleyway, the tourist shop was located in an inhabited part of the city. People moved around her, hurrying to work, talking with their companions, or their attention focused on small little hand-held devices that they seemed to have surgically attached to their ears.

Samantha could not help but stare. These were people among her, yet they looked so different than they had just a few days ago, even though she knew twenty years had passed. The clothes, the hairstyles, even the facial expressions and the way people talked was different.

'You aren't in your own time anymore,' she had to remind herself, 'Things are going to be different now.'

She shook her head, trying to regain her bearings, before she started walking the streets, past the people, feeling lost and out of place amongst people who had no idea what was really going on around them.

Somehow, she ended up in front of the bay, leaning against the railing that bordered the concrete platforms separating land from water. She stared off at the water, hearing the waves overlapping over the cry of the passing seagulls overhead. The chilled morning wind snapped at her face, making her eyes water. She shivered, wishing she had brought her jacket before berating herself for such a trivial complaint. She was alone, twenty years in the future, with none of her family or friends knowing that she was even alive and she was worrying about catching a cold.

She didn't know how long she sat there, staring out into the bay, feeling the hot sun beating down hard on her yet being neutrally controlled by the cold wind. Thought after thought passed across her eyes, settling into the depths of her mind, giving her not one moment of reprieve. She thought about her father, so young and vital when she left him in 1987 yet who was now withering away in a nursing home with no memory of who she was. She thought about her brother, how lost and scared and alone he must have felt after her disappearance and who was now older than she. She thought about her aunt, her friends, her baby cousin who would never know her now. She thought about all that had been taken from her, all that she had loved. All she had lost.

Through Samantha's misery, she felt a presence not far behind her, but at a distance. It was unfamiliar, yet she knew who it was. When she spoke, her voice sounded odd in her throat, not having used it in hours. That much she knew - that she had been sitting, staring, allowing the misery to take her as the severity of her situation finally started to sink in, for hours. It was mid afternoon by then. "How long have you been standing there?"

"Not long," Jack said from beside her.

Samantha started slightly, sure that he had not been that close to her and also slightly disturbed that she had not heard him approach that quickly.

"Really," she said evenly, not believing it.

"Same as you," Jack answered honestly, "About..." he checked his watch. "Two hours."

Samantha did not say anything at first.

"I'm not going to run away," she said suddenly. Her eyes were still locked firmly on the water mingled with sky.

"What?" Jack raised an eyebrow in confusion.

"You don't have to watch me every second," she went on, unable to keep the irony out of her voice, "My family, my friends...they all think I'm dead. It's not like I have anywhere to go."

Jack sat down next to her on the bench by way of reply, a good distance away so as not to alarm her.

"I'm sorry," he said. He seemed to be saying that a lot.

Samantha did not say anything. She did not want his pity. She did not want his sympathy. What she wanted was for him to tell her that he could open the Rift and send her back to her own time, back to her life, back to her family, yet she knew that no matter how much she wanted it, it would never be anything more than a life she could never live again. That part of her life, that life, was over now.

"It's not fair," she said. No sooner did the words come out did the flood of emotion she had been struggling to hold in came pouring out.

Jack's hand was on her shoulder then. "I know."

His words only made her cry harder. Suddenly, with a tenderness that surprised her, he had her in an embrace. She started at first, but found that she had no strength to move away. It also felt good, having something real, some real human touch, to hold on to. Something she felt like she would never have again.

Warning bells went off in her head. How could she let this man, this perfect stranger, get so close so easily and so quickly?

Yet somehow, she felt like she knew him. She knew it was impossible and that she did not – could not - but somehow, this stranger, this man whose presence in her life had all but ruined it, made her feel surprisingly safe. Maybe it was with her recently aquired knowledge of the Rift, but she also felt that maybe there was more to this situation than she initially realized, that it was more complicated than she could even imagine.

And she felt that maybe she wasn't as alone in this as she thought.

**A/N: Okay, I am REALLY trying to get past all this angsty stuff. I didn't intend to write this with so much drama, but I figured if I was sucked into a pan-dimensional vortex suspended in time and space, I'd be a little on the angsty side, too. **


	7. Lost Time

**A/N: Thanks to Gwen Harkness for pointing out several mistakes in previous chapters. Just to clarify : Samantha is not from America, but Bristol, as explained coincidentally in this chapter. Sorry again for any confusion. **

"What happened after I left?"

The question had been nagging at the surface of her mind ever since she had found out she was in 2007, yet it was only then that she had mustered up enough nerve to ask.

She and Jack were in his office later that evening. He had told her to wait for him earlier while he dealt with a technological malfunction with some sort of monitor that kept going off, alerting them to a potential alien invasion, Toshiko explained, though she quickly assured them that it was a false alarm. He had just entered the room and started to sit down at his desk when she voiced the question.

Jack looked up at her, as if expecting the question. Wordlessly he bent down behind his desk, shuffling around the drawers until he produced a newspaper that looked as if it was from decades ago. It was crinkled at the edges, slightly yellow from the affects of time, and some of the words were faded. He flipped through it until he got to the middle of the several large pages and set it down on his desk facing her. He pointed to the top of the page in the upper right corner.

It was an obituary.

_'Samantha Elizabeth McKay was officially declared dead on April 17th, 1994, seven years following her abrupt disappearance on January 17th, 1987 at 2:20 p.m., when her younger brother reported her disappearance. No leads were ever found involving her abduction and there was no substantial evidence or suspects involving her disappearance (for more information, see pg. 12). She is survived by her father, Walter, 42 and her brother, Charlie, age 14.'_

Below was a picture of her father, looking a few years older, with the edges of his face beginning to wrinkle and shades of gray appearing in his hair, and a teenage boy who she automatically identified as her brother seven years later.

Through trembling hands, she flipped to the twelfth page.

_'Charlie McKay was seven years old when he reported his older sister, Samantha's disappearance outside his baby-sitter's house. He reported her walking him to his baby-sitter's house from school one afternoon when all of a sudden, what he described as a blinding white light to investigators surrounded his sister before she disappeared without a trace. From there, he ran the few houses down to his baby-sitters, where he hysterically told his story to the Samuel and April Collins, who took his claim of the white light to be the headlights of a car when they reported it to the police._

_'Despite prompting by the police that the light was caused by a vehicle's headlights as they tried to get a lead concerning the car description, McKay was insistent that there had been no vehicle in sight._

_'Controversy has surrounded this case for the past seven years. Conspiracy theorists have labeled this event as a close encounter. Skeptics have labeled it as a hoax from an attention seeking adolescent, turning real life abduction events into a made up story, or a distraught boy suffering from post-traumatic stress disorder. No explanation has ever been confirmed, yet the case has now been officially labeled as a vehicular abduction and closed.'_

Samantha suddenly felt as if she had been splashed with cold water. Everything that had happened to her within only a few seconds a few days ago had really been a few decades. She had disappeared. Her family thought she had been abducted. Her family had been mocked and ridiculed by the media for twenty years because of her.

She set the paper back down on his desk, running her hands through her hair.

"I'm sorry," she said. "It's just so…"

"Mad?" Jack offered.

Samantha laughed bitterly. "Yeah."

Then a thought occurred to her. "How long ago was Torchwood set up?"

Jack looked at her, his eyebrows furrowed. "A while," he answered carefully. "This branch is over two hundred years old. Why?"

"So the people who worked here before you monitored the Rift, yeah?"

Jack nodded, unsure of where she was going with this.

"So what did they do when the Rift opened? Then, I mean?"

"They interviewed your brother, then they took readings from where the Rift opened in London. Since the Rift is in Cardiff, it was an anomaly in itself, how it could spread so far, so fast, and then disappear without a trace. It turned out the hurricanes in Cardiff from a couple days before had disturbed the underwater plates, making them temporarily spread to various parts of Bristol. Upon further inspection, we found that there were seven main points of extrapolation."

Samantha bit her lip. "So how many people went through?"

"One."

_'Figures.'_

"Seven points of time and space opened for those few moments," Jack went on. "But mostly, they were in uninhabited areas, or temporarily empty areas. We knew that you had gone through the Rift, so we looked for opening points all over the country. Torchwood is also part of a chain or organizations, so we sent alerts to every other Torchwood."

"And how many are there?"

"The Crown has set up no less than two Torchwood bases on every continent, save for Great Britain. Each base monitors one half of their dichotomic assignements. Each Torchwood, is also set up on a Rift in time and space. There are Rifts all over the world. The only continent that doesn't have one is Australia, and that's only because they're so small that the probability of them having had one was so small. It could still happen though. At any rate, if you had come out of the Rift and into the same time period, we would have known. The only thing that we could deduce was that you were either in the future or on another planet."

Samantha said nothing, letting that sink in.

"Naturally, that was out of our hands, but you were one of the many we've put into the database, just in case. Protocal, you know."

Jack's eyes were so full of sympathy, so full of pity. It hurt her to look at him. "I'm so sorry," he whispered.

"Really?" Her tone was more doubtful than hostile.

"If I could give it all back to you, I would."

"You don't even know me."

His silence made a chill run up her spine. It was as if his lack of agreeing with her was a form of counter-argument, like he really did know her.

"Still," he said after a beat. "I know what you're going through."

She fought the urge to lash out at him, to tell him that he had no right to say that when he had no idea what she was going through, but she had had enough emotional breakdowns to last her a lifetime, so she bit her tongue.

"I was left in a time that wasn't my own," Jack went on, surprising her, as if he knew perfectly well what she wanted to do. "I was abandoned, by my friend, when I needed him the most. I was lost, alone, and broken, in a time where I knew no one and no one knew me."

Samantha looked up at him, as if seeing him as a different person. Suddenly, she felt closer to him, more connected than she had before. They had a link now, something that made them alike in a way that no one else could understand. Then she felt small, insignificant, because she still had her family. He didn't.

"I'm sorry," she said, but the words seemed inadequate, like there was something more to say even though she didn't know what it was.

He nodded. "It was a long time ago. The point is, I got through it. I got through it and so will you."

"How?" she asked. "How did you get through it?"

Jack fixed his gaze on her with those penetrating blue eyes. "I got up each morning. I went through the day. I faced the world. It was hard, but I did. Then I found myself outside, amongst the people who had no idea what was going on around them every day, and it was better. I wasn't even thinking about it. It snuck up on me. It got better for me, and it will get better for you."

Samantha said nothing, but his words gave her hope. For the first time since that whole mess started, she felt hope that maybe, just maybe, she could find some way to live her life. She might not get the life she had planned for herself, but maybe she could make another one.

_Life is what happens when you're too busy making plans._ Her father quoting John Lennon echoed in her mind, like a memory from long ago when in actuality, it was only a few days for her. That was his life motto, one he lived by faithfully. His obsession with the Beatles's diminished his credibility in the philosophy department, but the point still stood with him.

"I hope so," was all she said.

Jack did not say anything for a while. When he did speak, his voice was even.

"I'll take you to your brother's when you're ready," he said. "You can stay here for a couple of days if you want. Just say the word."

She nodded and he turned to leave the room. "Jack?"

He turned back to her, raising his head expectantly.

"Thanks."

He smiled. "No problem."

**A/N: Reunion should be up next. **

**Not sure exactly if there are more Torchwoods outside of the U.K., or if they ever elaborated on this on the show, so that bit about two Torchwoods on every continent was creative license, or in my case license, but it just seems odd to me that there would only be one Rift in time and space on a planet this size, so I'm just assuming there are more. **


End file.
